The Only Way is Deduction
by dontgigglethisisa-crimescene
Summary: Sherlock gets a letter from a client in Cumbria. He must venture out of his comfort zone into the countryside, to find what mysteries lie in wait. John begins to understand his feelings for his companion.
1. Chapter 1

The Only Way Is Deduction

Chapter 1 - The Letter

John walked through the door to 221 Baker Street, shopping in hand and face flushed from the cold.

"Mrs. Hudson? Did we get and mail while I was out?" he shouted.

"Yes dear, an important letter came through for Sherlock, but I heard gun shots again-"

John didn't hear the rest, as he was already halfway up the stairs, mail under his arm and shouldering the door open. "Sherlock…" he started, Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa, hands pressed together under his chin, eyes closed to whatever train of thought he was on. The gun was lying on the floor beside him. In the wall were three new holes, _that's extra on the rent again _he thought. He sighed and walked into the kitchen, the centre table was full of bottles and vials filled with putrid smelling coloured liquids, some with strange coloured smoke pouring from the tops. He moved a few fingers and what looked like cats ears off the edge of the table and placed the bags down. Back in the living room he picked up the gun, removed the ammunition and threw the letter down onto Sherlocks chest.

His friend opened one eye and looked at it.

"What's this?" he mumbled, unused to receiving letters.

"It arrived this morning you would have got it sooner but you were too busy defacing the wall again!" his anger was lost on Sherlock as he was already buried in the letter, his brow furrowed. He leapt up and ran to the bedroom, the letter falling onto the coffee table. John gave it a glance and saw it was filled with neat handwriting which scrawled across the page, the letter read:

**_Please help Mr Holmes,_**

**_My family are in danger, my son has been kidnapped and my husband has been threatened with death. I haven't been informed with his happenings, he has many secrets and I believe this is the reason for the threats._**

**_If you could find out who is doing this, and what has become of my son, I would be so grateful. I am afraid I live a little out of your way, as I live in the Lake District in Cumbria. I can understand if you cannot help. But if so, I shall meet you at Hundith Hill Hotel, Lorton Vale, just outside Cockermouth._**

**_There is a room ready for you. Ask at the reception._**

**_Please help._**

**_Mrs. Lily Richmond._**

This was an unfortunate set of events. No wonder Sherlock was so excited.

"Life is good John!" he heard from the bedroom. "It must be Christmas. Kidnap, death threats, and secrets!" he bounded from the bedroom eyes glistening with excitement, "Come John, the game is on."

"Are we going to see this – Mrs. Richmond?" he asked glancing at the letter again, turning to see the bottom of Sherlocks coat disappearing out of the door into the street. John followed calling to Mrs. Hudson, "We'll be out a while Mrs. Hudson, don't wait up. Sherlock! Wait!" He stumbled out of the door and into the waiting cab.

"Kings Cross Station. And hurry!" Sherlock shouted at the cabby.

At Kings Cross they caught the train to Carlisle. John took this time to catch up on his sleep, whilst Sherlock looked out the window, eyes glazed to the surroundings and mind already on the mystery ahead. At Carlisle station, they hailed a taxi and asked for the hotel mentioned in the letter. The driver gave them an interesting look, "Honeymooners," he thought, and tried to start a pointless conversation, as it was obvious neither of the men were in the mood for small talk.

The hotel looked pleasant, picturesque even. Situated in the Lorton Valleys and surrounded by rolling hills and large fells.

"Well," said John smiling as they climbed out of the taxi and headed for the hotel doors, "Doesn't look like much would happen around here."

"Don't judge a book by its cover, John. Remember the cabby?" John grimaced as his memories of his first case with Sherlock flashed through his mind. "However, I think you're right, it does seem too peaceful, hateful even."

They entered the hotel, the reception desk was made of soft pine wood, but nothing really stood out. Sherlock look around, then walked up to the desk.

"Hello and welcome to the Hundith Hotel, how may I help you?" She murmured out in a bland voice.

"Yes, I believe there has been a room booked under the name of Holmes?" he said raising an eyebrow questioningly at the woman. She looked bored, as if she would have rather been anyway but there. Her bleach blonde hair was pulled tightly back into a pony tail, and she was a sickly shade of orange. Sherlocks nose wrinkled up as he caught the smell of her terribly strong perfume.

_Not cheap accommodation _- this he knew from a quick search of the area on his phone whilst on the train. He was amazed to see that the room he and John would be acquiring would cost an astonishing £106 for one night – _so she obviously is looking for Mr. Right whilst working here, has high expectations. Doesn't realise she's going a bit too far. Nevertheless… _He thought, as she turned back to the desk with booking ledger in hand.

"Yes Mr. Holmes," She rolled out past lips heavy with large amounts of lip gloss, "Your room has been booked and paid for, you will be staying in room 113, and it's a twin room so don't worry." She stopped and looked at John who was admiring the décor with keen interest, "However you can push the beds together if – " Sherlock cut her off as he grabbed the key from the desk and marched through the double doors by the reception and down the long corridor towards their room. John was quick on his heels, _I wish people would stop assuming me and Sherlock are together._ He was thinking. He looked at Sherlock who was storming ahead of him down the corridor,_ I _do_ find him attractive, there isn't any denying it however, the way his eyes shine with excitement at a case, his pale almost ethereal skin, there was something about him that was just so attractive when he was like this. _

Sherlock turned to face John, "This is the one." he said, waiting for John to catch up, who was staring at him intently, Sherlock wasn't used to having John stare at him for no reason without sudden outburst of "Brilliant" and "Fantastic" but he shrugged it off and walked into the room. Sherlock removed his coat and flung it onto the nearest bed, and walked to the window to peer out into the dreary countryside, the grey skies were making the place seem colder than it already was. Peaceful, cold, and yet, oppressive, not something that was natural, for such a quiet seeming place.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Mrs. Richmond

John was up all night tossing and turning, first thinking about the kidnapped teen, and then, finally as Sherlock decided it was best if he slept too, climbed into the other bed and fell asleep, John started thinking about him. His thoughts wandering to all the times they've been close, his heart beating quickly when he thought of those moments, each moment Sherlock gave him a seemingly innocent look, but not to John. He kind of wished the thoughts would stop, fade, or just go away entirely. When Sherlocks soft snoring penetrated his thoughts, he groaned wearily and got out of bed. He stumbled as he groped through the darkness for the complementary robe, his clothes were in the bathroom, and he thought that in this pitch black that surrounded him that it was too much of a challenge to find the bathroom door without waking Sherlock, who, in his sleeping state, looked finally at peace. There was a sharp rapping on the door, Sherlock leapt out of bed, half dressed and opened the door.

"Yes?" He asked the figure in the doorway.

"Sherlock Holmes, I presume? Your client has asked me to tell you she will meet you in the restaurant at nine."

Sherlock closed the door when the figure left, and turned to face John flicking the light switch on in the process.

"It seems we've passed our test, and we get to finally meet Mrs. Richmond?" John averted his eyes from the partially naked figure of Sherlock; he walked past the quizzical gaze and stepped into the bathroom. Coming out he saw his friend sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together in thought. When Sherlock noticed John was out of the bathroom and changed, He stood up and walked towards him squeezing past him through the bathroom door. John blushed at the closeness of Sherlocks half dressed body and inhaled a deep breath of his musky scent. When the bathroom door closed he took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. He walked towards the window and twitched the curtain over to look out, the sun was just creeping over the hilly countryside, and the morning frost glistened in the light. The sound of falling water began, _Sherlocks in the shower,_ he thought unable to keep his heart from missing a beat at the thought of water cascading down Sherlocks naked body, he wrote a note and left it on the bedside table, and left the room.

Sherlock stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, _John has been acting a tad strange of late, _he mused as he stared into the bathroom mirror, his dark wet hair flopping over his eyes, he opened the bathroom door slowly and made the assumption that John had already left for the restaurant, strolling to the bed he sat down to dry his hair and glimpsed the note lying on the pine wood table beside the bed. _Just as I suspected he's gone for breakfast, _now dry he changed into his clothes, grimacing at the thought that he hadn't packed any, with him leaving in such a rush the previous day. Grabbing his scarf and coat from the coat hook on the back of the door, he stepped out into the corridor. Walking briskly along he heard a muffled voice from an adjoining corridor, a figure was standing in the shadows and Sherlock stopped when he heard his name mentioned.

"Yes... _Sherlock Holmes_... that bitch must have contacted him... no... I'll get right on it"

Sherlock dived back into the shadows as he heard the man coming towards him, _phone call, must be, only heard one voice. _As the man stepped into the main corridor, he turned and walked towards the main doors and barged through them. The man had a gruff voice, husky from the hushed tones of the conversation, Sherlock never saw his face, but he had observed enough to notice him if he saw him a second time, he hoped. _Expensive coat, and shoes, must work high up in the hotel, possibly manager, can't possibly own it, large feet for his height – 6'3'' _he assumed, _size 12 feet, well educated. _But something had caught his eye more than anything else, a ring, on the middle finger of his right hand. It was gold with an inset black stone, _family heirloom? Doubtful. Maybe belongs to a lodge? More likely, however..._ he had been walking and thinking, his mind not on where he was going until his thoughts were interrupted by a shout from his right.

"Sherlock!"

He turned, it was John. He was sat at a table in the large restaurant; a woman was sat opposite him. He checked his watch, 8.58. _She's early, but not everyone is as punctual as I am. _He walked towards them, an imposing figure in his long coat and his steely grey eyes that seemed to look straight through you without any feeling. He shook the woman's hand, _Also well educated, kind face, but grief has already taken its place on her features. _

"Ah Mr. Holmes, So good that you could come, I'm-"

"Mrs. Richmond, I know."

She smiled, and offered him a seat and sat down again herself.

"Me and John were just talking about the area an-"

"I do not care for menial chatter; tell me about your missing son." He interjected.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - The Body in the Lake

"My son went missing on the 28th of November, I didn't think nothing of it at first, as he tends to go missing for a few days with his friends, but when I didn't get a phone call off him after a day or so, I started to get worried. I contacted the police, and they said they can't do anything about it until at least 48 hours have passed. So naturally, I suspected he'd turn up eventually. But then I got this." Mrs. Richmond pulled a letter from her handbag, and slid it over the table to Sherlock. Picking it up he suspected it in the morning light that was shining through the large windows. _Highly ordinary paper, could come from any shop that sells stationary _he thought_._

"Seems ordinary enough from the outside, did it come with an envelope?" he questioned, eyes not leaving the folded note.

"Yes, here."

The envelope wasn't out of the ordinary either. The address was written in careful block letters in black ink most likely from a normal biro. _Nothing really gained there. _

"There are no fingerprints, no distinct markings, someone has been careful not to gain my attention." Sherlock put the envelope down on the table and opened the letter, it was written in the same careful lettering, but with only one difference, the ink was blue, and clearly from a fountain pen. "Why do you think they changed pens?" He asked John, he always enjoyed a second opinion even when he knew his was correct.

"Maybe it was a different person who wrote it?" John shrugged as he said it, not noticing any difference, until he noticed there was a slight curl on each letter compared to that of the envelope.

"Ah you noticed that then? No it was the same person, they've just done their hardest to disguise their hand writing, the fountain pen gives an unmistakable cursive to any writing and therefore, changing pens will enable a difference." He pointed out, "It's obvious, if it was written by another person trying to make it look like that same persons handwriting, they wouldn't have left such tell tale marks, nor changed pens."

John looked at Sherlock, "Obvious?"

"As always," he sighed.

The note was a death threat written to Mrs. Richmonds husband, and read as follows:

**We have your son, if you do not comply within the next week, we will kill him, and then come for you.**

"And what does it mean then Sherlock answer us that? Comply about what?" said John mockingly.

"Hmm, clearly your husband, Mrs. Richmond-"

"Please call me Lily."

"Yes... As I was saying, clearly your husband had a job he must take care of, what does he do?"

"All I know is he works at this hotel." She smiled apologetically.

Sherlock remembered the man on the phone earlier that morning, could this be her husband, was the person who had been on the other end, the person who had sent this threat? Well this is why Sherlock was here wasn't it, to solve the case.

Two police cars pulled up outside the hotel, the flashing lights getting Sherlocks attention first.

"I think, Lily, they have found your son." A feeling of excitement stirring in his chest, _finally, something interesting is happening._

Sherlock got up, and walked to the hotel entrance, John in step behind him. The police were very solemn, and he heard a whimper come from behind him.

"Oh God no! No! Please don't tell me it's my son!" Tears were already streaming down her face as one of the police officers gave a slight nod. "NO!" she cried. Slumping into the officers arms, "It can't, there must..." the end of her sentence left unfinished as she choked on it. Great heaving sobs stopping her from saying anything that anyone could understand.

"And you are?" The other officer asked Sherlock.

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective." He said with a smirk. The officer looked at him, and sighed.

"You'll be wanting t' see t' body then?" he said in a strong Cumbrian dialect. "Divn't blame me though if you get pulled by me Gaffa." And with that he opened the driver's side door of the car, and sat down behind the wheel. "Gerrin then."

Sherlock looked at the car, he disliked sitting in police cars, but it was his only option. He reluctantly opened the passenger side door and got it, with John getting into the back. They drove down the path for a while leaving Mrs. Richmond with the other police officer, the countryside passed in an endless array of different shades of green. Just as Sherlock thought they were driving into the town ahead the officer took a sharp left and started driving over the grass, taking us towards a steep downhill slope. On top of the hill you could see one of the three lakes that surrounded this area, but the beauty was marred by the scene which lay ahead. Police cars, tape and officers surrounded the shoreline.

John stared at the corpse as he got from the car. Sherlock was already on his way towards the police tape.

"I'm sorry but who the bloody hell are you?" said the DCI, he was a tall man with short crew cut hair, and a shading of stubble around his square jaw. His small eyes were shrewd with suspicion at the newcomer.

"Sherlock Holmes. I was contacted to come here about this boy." He said smugly. "And by the looks of things, you're going to need my help," and with that he ducked under the tape and strode over to the corpse, only looking back slightly to shout "He's with me!" just as the DCI was about to stop John from entering the scene.

As John got up to the body, Sherlock was already on his knees inspecting it with his pocket magnifier.

"So?" John said, eyebrows rising with his question. He knelt next to Sherlock and checked the body himself. "He can't have been dead for anything more than 12 hours. It must have washed up not too long ago."

"Yes, the surface of his clothes are drying out, however the underside is still soaked through. He has a surmountable bit of bruising on the face, neck and wrists, captors probably give him a beating to shut him up, and he was restrained to something. A chair maybe? Yes definitely a chair, look at the marks on the ankles too. So restrained to a chair, then what with the marks on his neck – oh! They choked him to death before putting him in. That's how they killed him."

Sherlock stood up and was about to ask the DCI about it when he noticed something dark on the back of the teens neck. Sherlock rolled the body over and there on the back of his neck was a mark unlike any other he'd seen before. Burnt into the skin.


End file.
